hibition of it before the public, would be an outrage upon modesty, that no motive, however pure or laudable, could sanction. Those, however, who are curious to see to what extreme pollution Priestly celibacy leads her captives, can be favored with the revolting sight, by calling at the office of the "DownFALL OF BABYLON," No. 131 Nassau-st. New York.

Of the striking and frightful engravings which are interspersed throughout this Narrative, that of the Purgatory-room, at page 121, is one of the most terrific. It will doubtless appear to some, that the authoress, here, has really drawn a picture wholly of her own imagination. Devils are here seen dancing in the flames of Purgatory, with spectres the most hideous to behold. Some are playing on the violin, and others on the flute. Some have pitch-forks, to turn the poor roasting souls; others are armed with fiery serpents, to torment and sting them. Some have gaping mouths to swallow them up, and others seem ready to dart upon them, and, with their long iron claws, to tear them into pieces. One is seen, (strange figure, however, in Purgatory!) dressed like a Monk, standing in the middle of the devilish place, over a pot of burning sulphur, with a snake coiled round his feet, and with a fire-brand waving in his hand. A horrible grin spreads his mouth from ear to ear. He stands, and looks, commander-in-chief of the infernal group. All this is to be seen.

The thought occurs,-" if, indeed, there is a Purgatory after death, we doubt not that Monks and Priests are, verily, and indeed, commanders-in-chief;"—for, of all men, as this Narrative proves, they stand the most in need of purging.

Poor Rosamond was introduced into this sulphureous abode, this Purgatorial bug-bear in the Convent, to show her how much more the wicked heretics would have to suffer when they go to hell.

Purgatory, with all its hissing serpents, and sulphureous flames; with all its pitch-forks, devils, and voracious mouths, is only meant for pious Catholics, whose venial sins have not been expiated while on earth. This is their prison "till they have paid the last farthing;" and this farthing must be paid by them, or by their friends, to the Holy Priests for Masses. Those that have no money, have to roast until the Day of Judgment.

Incredible as this Purgatory account may appear to the people of these United States, I will inform them, that in Popish countries, it is a common appendage to almost every Religious Order! both of Monks and Nuns. There is one of these Purgatorial scare-crows, even now, in Kentucky. I myself, when a Priest, frequently visited it. I have done penance in it, and have seen the Nuns on penance in it. This one is in the Convent of Loretto, about twelve miles from Bardstown, in the state of Kentucky. The Nuns in this establishment are, or, at

Yeast, were, in the year 1829, under the direction of the Reverend Father Chabrat. The Purgatory-room in this Nunnery is, indeed, different from that in Cuba; but, still, it is frightful and horrible enough to terrify, not only Nuns, but even Priests themselves, as I know from my own personal experience. Here there is no pot of burning sulphur; but, they have the devils, and serpents, and pitch-forks, and a variety of other horrible figures, to terrify and keep the poor deluded Nuns in subjection to their Ghostly Masters. Instead of sulphur, the punishment in this Purgatory-room, is cold. The Nuns are confined here, doing penance on their knees, in the coldest days of winter, without a spark of fire to warm them. They remain in this painful attitude, shivering with cold, until they are almost ready to expire. I myself have done penance in that room until my body sunk exhausted to the floor.

It

I speak of this Purgatory-room as being at Loretto now. was there, at least, in the year 1829, and during all the time of my residence at Bardstown college, previous to that time, which was, I think, about nine years. If any of the Protestants have children being educated in that Nunnery, as they generally have, they can ascertain from them the truth of what I state. They also, at times, are admitted into the Purgatory-room, accompanied by one of the Holy Nuns, to explain to them the nature of the thing; and, by their sophistry, to proselyte them to the faith!

In all the disclosures which are made by our authoress, and in the "Downfall of Babylon," nothing is advanced, incredible as it may appear to some, but what is strictly true; and what can be proved by Protestants, or by Papists, if the latter could be induced to give their testimony.

Every circumstance taken into consideration, the truth of this Narrative cannot be doubted. The authoress is a sincere, humble, and pious convert, declining in health, and, apparently, sinking into the grave. She appears to have a well-grounded hope beyond the declining shadow of the present life. She looks upon death, not as a king of terrors, but as a friend. She speaks of the world as if it were a mere transitory dream. She remembers what she has suffered; is conscious that it is to God alone she owes her deliverance; and she longs to be with her deliverer. She seems to feel, and to know, with St. Paul, “that if her earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, she has a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

The testimonials of her character, which are given by her pastor, the Rev. N. E. Johnson, and by others, we think, are sufficiently recommendatory to remove any doubt that might arise in the public mind relative to the sincerity and veracity of the authoress.

Two of the most incredible facts related in the Narrative, have been proved by the testimony of others, by testimony, too, that can be substantiated beyond a doubt. I allude to the negro sausages, and the Purgatory-room.

Then, again, she has the testimony of the Rev. Father Pies himself, in the thirty-two letters written by his own hand, and signed with his own signature.

The substance of all the facts which she relates, is also confirmed, in the notes, by authority which Papists, at least, cannot dispute; that is, by the authority of their own Councils, Popes, Saints, and historians.

With all this mass of positive, circumstantial, and presumptive evidence, there is not a jury in the world who would not pass the verdict, guilty, against the Reverend culprits, who, in this Narrative, are brought before the bar of public opinion.

The picture which is drawn, is not of a solitary individual, but of the whole confraternity, from Bishop, down to the lowest Priest that earns his bread by telling fortunes. From Bishops, whose hoary locks have been bleached with a century of crimes, to Priests whose faces are disfigured with licentiousness, and whose tottering limbs no more can bear them to the masquerades, balls, or cock-fights.

The picture which is drawn, is not a portrait, but the tout ensemble of what Popery is, where Popery bears the sway. It is principle and doctrine put to practice. It is the "work working," as they call it, ex opere operato." It is the demonstration that the system was framed in hell ;—that hoods, and veils, and cloaks, are masks to screen the vast deformity from view ;that incense, bells, and beads,-Breviaries,-Pater's,—Aves, but fumigated sounds, a kind of lullaby for superstition.

are

Let them not tell us, that it is in Cuba alone, that the work thus works. The same scene is presented to the view in France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy. The curtain there, has been raised by their own Popes, Saints, and historians; and the tragic scene has been handed down from age to age, polluted on every leaf, in every page.

There is not a corner of the earth where this insidious Serpent has coiled his way, but the slime of his pollutions has defiled the land, or the venom of his sting has paralyzed the heart. Cast the eye over the distant walls of China, and there we see this" Queen of heaven" rolling, Juggernaut-like, upon a car with the goddess of the Pagans. Turn again the eye to India's burning plains, and peep into Goa's loathsome dungeon of the Inquisition, and there behold the ghastly victims of intolerance, panting and suffo cating for the air of heaven, because they are guilty of the crime of thinking for themselves. Look upon the verdant fields of Ireland, that land of native genius-the sight draws tears into one's

eye; the Priestly pedagogues, with whip in hand, drive the poor submissive sons of Erin, as a teemsman drives his cattle. See them buried in ignorance and superstition, deprived of the Word of God,* and believing that a prayer-book is the Bible.

Let the eye wander again to the North, and spread itself over the vast domains of Canada. There may we count ninety and nine of a hundred, so illiterate as not to distinguish one letter from another. They can count their Beads or Rosaries, but have not learned to lisp their A, B, C.†

Go where we will, if Popery has long been there, we see a desert, and we breathe on death.

The

We present this Narrative before the public, plain and simple, as it flowed from the pen of the authoress. The only corrections which we have made, are in the orthography and punctuation. Beauty, when unadorned, is said to be adorned the most. beauty of originality, and the artless expressiveness of truth, which run through every line of this important Narrative, would have been lost, had it been retouched. We, therefore, present it as the genuine production of a heart bleeding at the recollection of her past misconduct; bruised and crushed under the iron hand of despotism: stained and polluted by the Spiritual Guardians by whom she was decoyed.

A tale she has told to the world, that ought to be wafted upon every wind that blows around the globe. Pictures she has drawn which have been etched on copper, and which, we trust, will be engraved on the memory of every patriot who loves his country, and of every Christian who fears his God.

I have this day, and having thus far advanced in the Introduction, been sent for by the authoress. I found her dangerously ill. Her physician, Doctor Ethan A. Ward, was standing by her bed-side, expecting every moment to see her breathe her last. The faculties of her mind were unimpaired, but her body was exhausted. She tried to speak, but was unable. After a short interval, however, she recovered the use of speech; the Doctor, then, at my suggestion, asked her if what she had written in her Narrative was true: she replied, "Yes, the truth, and nothing but the truth." A death-bed is a detecter of the heart,

"Where tir'd dissimulation drops her mask,

That mistress of the scene, through life's grimace:
Here, real and apparent are the same."

YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.

Who could doubt her word?-Death, with his stern visage, seems to stand before her.-The Christian fears him not. I ask

* See "DOWNFALL OF BABYLON," Vol. I. and Vol. II., No. 3.

+ See "DOWNFALL OF BABYLON," Vol. I., No. 35.

ed her, "Rosamond, are you happy in the Lord ?"-"I am happy," she replied; "my trust is in the Lord Jesus Christ."-Her countenance stamped the approbation of truth on what she said; and resignation sat smiling on her lips. Testimony such as this, even incredulity itself could not resist. Is it to be supposed, that a person, apparently in the very arms of death, and exulting in the glorious hopes of immortality, would breathe her last in confirmation of a lie? The strongest motives now were present to induce her to speak the truth: the world receding from her view; death standing at the door; and eternity opening before her. The truth of her Narrative cannot be doubted. The pious convert has again, through the blessing of the Lord, recovered; but the testimony which she gave, was, to all appearance, the last; therefore, it may be said, that her Narrative is confirmed by the seal of death itself.

Admitted--the Narrative is true.-Where does Popery now stand?-or, rather, where will it fly to hide itself?-the picture is drawn:-truth has confirmed it.

It is vain for the Papist to tell us, that these are abuses unsanctioned and condemned by the church. If they are abuses, they are universal wherever Popery prevails. They are, moreover, sanctioned by their church;-or what do they mean by Church? -If it be asked, "what is the established religion in Cuba ?"— Will not the answer be, "it is the Roman catholic religion ?"By whom is the church there governed? Is it not by Romish Archbishops, Bishops, and Priests ?-What is the doctrine taught there? Is it not the same as that which is taught in Rome?— Are they not under the jurisdiction and authority of the Pope of Rome? And why does he not, in the plenitude of his Apostolical power, correct the abuses?" An error," (as Augustine remarks,) "which is not condemned, is approved." Neither let it be said, that these abominations are unknown to the Pope. If they are unknown, it is because he does not wish to know them; and what sort of a universal Shepherd, then, is he?—Is there a foot of territory in the United States upon which this Spirited Hawk has not fixed his eye? When his authority is resisted, the fact soon reaches his ears; witness the case of Hogan, the refractory Priest in Philadelphia; and of Fearnon, the schismatic Priest in Brooklyn. His eyes are keen enough to see, when danger, however distant, threatens his own royal throne; and his voice is loud enough to thunder his anathemas from pole to pole. But, alas! when his own wolves are tearing the sheep to pieces, and the honor of the King of kings is trampled in the dust, he can neither hear nor see.

Where, too, is the Infallible Church all this while?-Where are the Infallible Pastors, who pretend, that he who hears them, hears Christ; and he who despises them, despises Christ?